tag you're it!
by AkaOkamiRyu
Summary: 2x12: 2x13: Caitlin Snow has seen the impossible before, many times, but she's never had the impossible asked of her. But that's what Barry is asking now, asking them to trust Harry again. - [A series of tags to episodes, previews and deleted scenes. Likely a lot of snowbarry but definitely other pairings (romantic and non) too.]
1. i set you apart

_So I love writing tags to scenes from the show but usually by the time I post them, they happened ages ago, because my main one-shot series Oh How I Burn, is posted months after. I finally decided to just create separate place for all my quick episode tags and extended scenes._

 _This one was requested: Anonymous asked: Did you see today's 14 sec promo on the flash's twitter? "What are you doing here?" "I- I wanted to see you." "It's been a while." A FANFIC SHALL BE BORN AND YOU SHALL BE ITS MOTHER (please)_

* * *

 _ **i set you apart**_

* * *

There's a long moment where he just watches her work—pressed white coat, neat black heals, bare legs with a hint of red skirting her knees, curls loose but still under the force of her concentration. His heart beats heavy in his chest and something rises in his lungs, thick and overwhelming at the familiar sight of her. Loss and grief—they're old companions now, not quite fair weather friends but he knows them well enough, except this time they're inspired by someone who has never been far away, even if the distances have lately felt unfathomable.

He's missed her, missed this, these quiet moments they once shared as easy as the scant breathing room they've always barely kept between them. He could drink her in for ages, let the warmth of her presence (even unawares as it is) balm the chafed edges of his weary soul but he knows it's not fair to linger, to take without giving and if he and Caitlin are anything, it's an even trade. So he settles his weight against the door frame and taps one quiet thumb against the metal, let's the hushed sound announce his presence and steals a few last selfish seconds of unregulated, uncomplicated comfort as she turns.

She's surprised, but in that quiet, unassuming way she has—questions without accusation and he could drown in the depths of his gratitude, because guilt dogs his every step, everywhere but with her. And it's because of that, all that, that he doesn't bother couching his words in anything but the honest truth: "Oh, I wanted to see you." Their eyes meet immediately and it's like the weeks have gone unmarked and un-passed: so much has changed but she's still the same Caitlin—soft brown eyes, gently creased brow, hushed words, painted lips and an expression that says she reads every line of his heart like it's a book kept open on her table.

And then she says what they've both been feeling, at every frayed edge of their souls: "It's been awhile." It's not the same words but it's the same sentiment, laid bare between them: she wanted to see him too. This aching, this emptiness, this tiny piece that no one else fills, it's a twin imprint on both their hearts, a mirrored hole left gaping by his self imposed reclusion; a matched set between them, regardless of what it means (friendship, kinship, a shared survivor sense or maybe something so much more).

"I know, I'm sorry," he tries to bridge the distance, leans into the room with a kind of hesitance he's not used to feeling here only to remain hovered at the edge of his exit strategy. "It's just been…" There aren't words, or there are, but they're too abundant or too hard or too heavy where they lodge between the folds of his intestines—he's not sure which it is but it hardly matters. Caitlin knows them, picks up all his pieces where he leaves them off.

"A lot, I know." And there's something that settles inside of him, falls back into place at the click of her heels across the lab floor before she bridges the distance and asks, with the slope of her eyes and the tiny bit of lip her teeth find, for the hug he's been burning to give her since he made up his mind to stop running away from the one person he knows will always give the forgiveness he doesn't feel he earns. He buries himself in the embrace, not sure who's holding who but warmed and settled by the familiar press of her skin and scent of her hair and the distant but constant beat of her heart. "You know you didn't have to deal with all this alone."

"I know. I didn't, I always knew you were here." (And she was, ready and waiting every day).

* * *

Listened to the Boyce Avenue cover to "The Scientist" while I wrote this. If you haven't heard it, you totally should.


	2. guide you through the darkest of your

_**guide you through the darkest of your days**_

* * *

Caitlin sees Henry walk back into the party, a warm smile masking tight eyes that catch Joe's knowing nod, but Barry doesn't return with him, which is more telling then the strained expressions on either of their faces. It leaves something unsettled in her stomach, a flutter of nerves and anxiety that she knows will not quiet itself, so with a smile and a vague nod, she excuses herself from Cisco and Dr. Stein and backtracks the steps she's just watched Henry take (if either man notices, they don't stop her but she's not focused on the gratitude that crosses Henry's gaze or the understanding in Joe's).

She finds him on the back steps, head in his hands and shoulders sagging—she's familiar with the way Barry looks when he's carrying the weight of the world there, but this looks more like he's given up entirely. The clench of her heart, the sting of tears behind her eyes: they're too familiar feelings but she can't help the way they swell and ache at the sight of him, at the way he doesn't even react to the sound of her footsteps, the creak of the door. Head hanging, a sigh building in her chest, Caitlin steps forward and then settles down next to him, careful to press her shoulder to his when she tucks her legs off to the side. "What happened Barry?" is a heavy breath that ghosts against his cheek, prompts him to shift his focus to his visitor.

There are tears pooling in his eyes, a grief and a misery so at odds with the smiling, joyful man who had walked in just half an hour ago; too reminiscent of the man she remembers pulling her into his arms six months ago, delivering the worst of news. "He's going to leave."

His sorrow spills down his cheeks and she fights back the urge to join him. Barry's been strong for her, she can return this favor (will and wants to, will never shirk from the strength they trade whenever it's needed (which is all too often)). She knows there aren't any words, knows it won't help to force questions or clarifications (what does the why matter, when the what is already so hard to hear by itself). "I'm sorry Barry," is all she offers, dropping her head against his shoulder and tucking in close against his side.

He doesn't even resist, just lets his cheek press against her curls as his tears fall cold across her hair, quiet and constant until they eventually slow and stop—it doesn't take long, but she knows he needs it and when he begins to pull away again, Barry is surprised to find one hand tangled carefully with hers, the soft brush of her thumb rubbing circles against his skin, calming his skittering heartbeat little by little. It makes him pause, pulls the slightest of smiles, fond and grateful at the corners of his mouth before he sighs again and eases back into her warmth once more. "He doesn't want to distract me from being the Flash, but he's my family Caitlin."

"I know," and she does, more than anyone, which is why she's here (why she's always here and he's always here; this is them, this is what they do, what they have done, what they will clearly always do).

"But you guys are too. Joe, Iris, Cisco and Dr. Stein, you," he turns a little, closer against her, his fingers squeezing back, his nose brushing her hair, his lips just skirting the distance between words and a careful kiss against her crown. "You're all my family now and he thinks that's enough," and she feels the splash of another tear or two, feels the stutter of his choked words as easily as she hears them and nestles a little closer too, turns her face into him as her eyes drift for his. "And maybe you are," she can't help the twin tears that roll down her own cheeks, because it's a feeling that's been growing (wild and ridiculous but warm and right despite all the acceptance it implies) inside her too, sharper and surer since he stepped into her lab and cemented what Cisco's visit had begun. "But I just got him back."

"I know," it's all she can say again and here Barry gives up and pulls her fully into a hug that feels so much like one six months ago: desperate and clinging and boneless with the weight they're sharing between them.

"I know you do," he whispers into her neck, feels her watery laugh and smile and lets it bring him the comfort it usually does. "Thank you for being here Cait," because she might not be able to change any of the things that are pulling his heart to pieces, but she makes it better, endurable, with the warmth of her presence and the steady certainty of her understanding. He's pretty sure he couldn't be here, couldn't do this, without her.

"Always." And she means it; there's finality in the way she squeezes a little tighter in the brief two syllables, a conviction that means so much more than just this moment. Neither of them are running away again, not anymore.

"Always." Barry echoes—the word, the sentiment, the promise that this is it, they're moving forward, one guarantee to lean on when they need strength to see it all through.

There's a ghost of a smile, faint but visible, when they pull away and resettle on the steps, watching the kids across the street play for a few minutes as silence settles between them. Finally, Barry shifts and catches Caitlin's gaze again. "Ready to go back in?" And then he's standing, hand outstretched for her answer, a little bit warmer from the affection in her dark eyes.

"Ready when you are."

* * *

Because that was clearly heartbreaking for Barry and he needs a little extra support. Mad credit to Boyce Avenue's Wherever You Will Go (link in title) for mood inspiration and fic name. Finally caught up on the first episode today and this had to be written.


	3. don't give up on me baby

_**don't give up on me [baby]**_

* * *

"Because lightning plus sand equals…"

"Glass."

Barry finishes her sentence and Caitlin feels something click back into place, like a first step in an old pair of favorite heels you haven't worn in a while. A weight she hadn't even realized she was carrying falls away from her skin and her breathing finds a normal she hadn't known she'd been missing. She hadn't realized everything had felt off but as her world rights itself, it makes sense immediately, this poor calibration she's been the unknowing victim of the last day and a half.

They're back in sync again; all of them, and the impossible has once again ceased to be a unit against which they measure their outcomes. Everything is back to their newly minted definition of right and her lips curl into a smile that's part satisfaction, part relief, part fondness for the way they all fall back into their places, already adjusted for their newest addition, ready to save the day. They can do this, they can be okay, they can handle anything that anyone (any meta human, from the likes of Sand Demon to this mysterious Zoom) throws at them.

Her faith was never shaken, not really, but she's not upset to regain the tangible feeling of it thrumming in her veins, warming her limbs and her thoughts and her actions.

That thrumming, connecting feeling doesn't leave after that, but it picks up, sharp and sure and wonderfully familiar, a little while later. She's speaking with Jay, reassuring him in a way that feels incredibly familiar (she thinks of a night with a power outage, a time when they weren't so close, when she'd seen the fight stolen from Barry's Atlas-like shoulders, when she'd first professed the faith that she'd felt so strongly today) when she sees Barry approach.

She knows his every step these days, knows the way he holds himself when he's afraid, excited, worried, ashamed. It's the set of those shoulders, once again, that is her first sign, and then the way his gaze skirts sheepishly to hers and the guilty acknowledgement behind his smile as he readily accepts the chastising she hides between her words. There's no begrudgement in the slope of her smile, warm and fond, when she watches him (because she understands his reasons, certainly had her own moments of doubt, and can't fault him for his caution or even his anger, not now that he's left it at the wayside).

It's in that moment, eyes caught and sharing a look of amusement, that the feeling comes back: punctuated by his laughing exhale and the retreating click of her heels.

Caitlin allows herself a moment on her walk out to revel in it—time she didn't have earlier in the day. All is right and well in their world (the relative parts of it anyway). It's warm and reassuring, those moments when you feel how well placed your faith is, when you can see the proof with your own two eyes.

* * *

My episode 2 (season 2) tag. Not as many Snowbarry moments in this episode, but that picked up sentence definitely caught my attention. I also wanted to include the shared look at the 40-41 minute mark but it felt like it would have been repetitive. This seemed like a good place to end.

Also, on a Boyce Avenue kick if you couldn't tell. They're awesome, if you don't know them. Their version of The Script's 'For the First Time' seemed like the perfect thematic fit for the tone of this story.


	4. Soft Spots

_**Soft Spots**_

* * *

"Let me go, I got this." And just like that, Cisco walks away, hands drawn close to his chest but his focus distant, chasing Lisa Snart out of the room.

Barry and Caitlin exchange an identical look, something torn and at odds: puzzled and knowing (and worried for the imbalance that rests between those two extremes). It's Caitlin who voices it though, wraps words around the conclusion they're both dragging their feet on drawing. "Someone has a soft spot," and it should be teasing; the words should dance with the light sound of her laughter, but instead it's a slow drag, an uneasy breath, a realization that the attraction no one's failed to notice is maybe something a little bit more.

Barry's eyes hold hers, forehead sloping his concern in a way that she can read even under the layers of leather that would mask his expression from anyone who knows him less. "There's no way this is going to turn out well." He doesn't try to hide the regret that coats his comment, the sadness he feels for the seemingly inevitable breaking of one of his best friend's hearts. Cisco deserves a shot at happiness (they all do really, but he's gotten the smallest taste; at least he had Linda, had a moment with Iris; at least Caitlin had Ronnie, brief but bright) but he cannot imagine Lisa Snart will be the woman who brings it to him.

The purse of Caitlin's lips, the way her eyes fall and she breathes a heavy exhale, mouth quirked into a brief and rueful smile, tells him that she agrees and feels as badly for it as he does so Barry just shrugs and nods and they return to trying to change the things they can (leave the rest to Cisco and hope he knows what's best for himself, even if they both begin to mentally prepare for picking up the pieces when he doesn't).

It's a few hours later, in the aftermath of Captain Cold's arrest and Lisa's successful bomb extraction, that Caitlin finds a chance to pull Barry aside. Joe's dealing with Leonard, Cisco is still dealing with Lisa and Jay and Stein are once more chatting about the final details for the Speed Cannon.

"I think the soft spot goes both ways," she jumps in with no preamble, knowing uninterrupted conversations in the lab come with no long-term guarantee. This time there's something of a laugh haunting the edge of her word, the warmth of hope lighting the dark hue of her eyes, easy to read and generating his automatic smile (because of course he picks the conversation back up almost immediately).

"Yeah?" There's an echo of her amusement and hope in his single syllable question, a lightness in his tone that had been missing before. Caitlin's nose wrinkles, just a bit, as she tries to reign in the corners of her grin.

"Yeah," and then she relays what she'd seen, standing on the other side of Barry's microphone, as Cisco had prepared to remove the bomb from Lisa's neck. She tells him about the grasp of steady fingers against a wrist, a held gaze, words that had sounded perfectly sincere from her vantage point halfway across the room and no less so, shortly thereafter, when they'd been forcibly joking to draw a grin.

Barry listens closely, takes in the serious lines across her face, the distantly fond way she remembers the exchanges, the meticulous way she recounts each detail and crafts the picture they paint and he believes her. His smile is soft and careful, hesitant but hopeful, a barometer for her own simmering emotions and they both breathe relief. Maybe, somehow, it can work out. Maybe, somehow, all their stories are not doomed for less then happily ever afters.

Maybe those stubborn soft spots, which seem to blossom in the least convenient times (for people they never expect), have a chance to become something wonderfully, gloriously more.

Cisco's voice (a groan of consternation, a hint of the conflict he must feel at Lisa's departure) interrupts a scarcely shared look as it reverberates down the hallway and startles them from their quiet moment. Barry laughs and Caitlin joins him and with a quickly traded eye roll and two wide grins, they turn to meet their friend and let him grumble.

(But somewhere, distant but not forgotten, they hold out hope for soft spots.)

* * *

So there you go, my (belated) tag to 2x03, Family of Rogues (I'm a little behind on episodes). Caitlin & Barry discussing Cisco & Lisa, which provides them little hope for each other. Hope you guys enjoyed it!


	5. trying

_**trying**_

* * *

He sees the way her face falls, watches a shadow steal into the dark brown of her gaze and settle there and his heart clenches a little (a sharp feeling, rife with understanding) even while the edge of his temper flares (who is this guy, to criticize Caitlin's best efforts?). There's a ring in the silence that Hewitt leaves behind, heavy with a host of emotions. Barry hears a sigh and Professor Stein walks out. Cisco follows, muttering ideas but Caitlin remains still. With a sigh of his own, he approaches and slides a hand across Caitlin's fallen shoulders. "You tried, it's not your fault it didn't work."

Barry hears her breath catch a little, before she turns toward him, looking utterly defeated. "I was so sure they'd be a match."

"Maybe too sure?"

It's the half curl of her smile, wry, and the slow nod that let him know just how hard she's taking this. "Professor Stein is the last piece of Ronnie I have left," she almost laughs, a breathy little amused exhale as she brings up a head to stop Barry's immediately opening mouth. "I don't meant it like that. I'm okay, really." And he doesn't doubt her, because he's seen her work through this before. He's sure losing Ronnie doesn't hurt any less the second time around, but he knows from some degree of experience that at least you know how to deal with it when you've already had practice. "I just feel like it's my responsibility to watch out for him, to take care of him in Ronnie's memory. He liked to complain about Stein," and here they share a grin at the memory of their bickering, "but he also really cared about him."

"We're going to find a way to fix this Caitlin," and there's no shadow of doubt in the way he says it; nothing but pure faith in what they can do together, all of them. "There's still Jackson, he might pull through." She looks unconvinced, but still grateful when he gives her shoulder a squeeze and they both turn back to work.

When Jackson doesn't pull through, Barry can't be mad at her, can't even really blame Caitlin for her frustration or the way she runs him off.

He knows she's carrying a lot of weight, that there's a part of her that feels responsible, so he tries his best and then lets her leave, stops Cisco from commenting or going after her. "She's just worried and she feels like there's nothing she can do to make it better." Cisco has seen the way she gets snippy and tense when Barry's hurt often enough that it clicks immediately and he just shakes his head. It might not be the right way but she's trying, Barry gets that.

* * *

The first of two tags for episode 2x04, The Fury of Firestorm. I wanted to bridge the gap with Caitlin's desperation to fix this problem and her snippy attitude about it. I feel like she's been showing a lot of ownership over Stein's health because I think she feels responsible, after Ronnie died. Like that's the last bit of him she can protect and so wanted to make that connection. I do plan to do a longer story, hopefully this weekend, regarding the line about possibilities but that will be a little bigger than my tag stories.

Hope you guys enjoyed!

Take Care & Best Wishes,

AOR


	6. powers & faith

_**powers & faith**_

* * *

She's smiling, Barry doesn't miss it. Instead, when it's all calmed down, he sidles on over and nudges her shoulder, grinning. "So you went to talk to him?"

Caitlin leans her weight against the table, lets her gaze track toward Barry, watches his grin grow from the corner of her eye. "I thought it might help, if he knew that someone still believed in him."

"Meta human powers and Caitlin Snow's faith." His grin creeps right into his voice, warm and amused as he nods towards Jefferson, who is deep in conversation with Professor Stein. When his focus shifts back, it's to a very puzzled Caitlin. Barry takes in her slight frown, her furrowed brow, her questioning expression and laughs then shifts a little more in her direction. "It's what superheroes are made of."

She actually flushes at the comment, a hint of pink that warms her cheekbones and causes her to squirm, just slightly, under his attention. "I wouldn't go that far."

"I would; I should know." His shrug is casual, even if his tone is steady. There's a sincerity in the way he watches her, in the way he says the words, that cuts to the core. "It matters, Caitlin: the way you believe in people. The way you've believed in me when I needed it most and now Jax." She still looks flustered and there's a moment where it amazes him, that she fails to see that her value on this team goes far beyond her medical skills and her intelligence. Barry nudges her shoulder again before shifting forward to go talk to Jefferson. "Seriously, it makes a difference. You make a difference."

* * *

Another quick, tiny little tag for 2x04 because her speech to Jax just reminded me so much of her speech during Blackout that i had to make the parallel.


	7. showing up

**showing up**

* * *

"Jay is a hero," Barry says, leaning in a little closer, like he's sharing a secret. "They always seem to show up just when you need 'em."

They trade smiles, wide and warm and comfortable and Caitlin can't help but think about how true that is. She's seen her fair share of crazy and dangerous in the last year and a half, but if one thing has proven true through all that, they've always managed to find a hero right when they've needed one most.

Most often in the form of Barry Allen, swooping in to save the day, whether it's at lightning speed as the Flash or at regular speed as himself, offering comfort and advice. She supposes that, all things considered, she's pretty lucky (to have him and Cisco, to have had Ronnie and Eddie and to have Iris and Joe; they're all heroes, all of them, separate and together and she knows that they can do this, even now, even without Jay).

It's a thought that she carries with her, warm and skirting on the edge of her smile, throughout their coffee break. It's also a thought that has her reaching out to catch Barry's wrist, when they all leave an hour later. "Thanks," she starts, when Cisco's gotten into his car and she's waiting for traffic to die down so she can cross the street to her own. Barry lifts a brow in that way he does when he's just about to ask a question and she can't help but grin and shake her head, fond and familiar as she beats him to it. "For the pep talk earlier. You're right; heroes do always tend to show up when we need them. But I don't really need to wait around for Jay." She doesn't say it, doesn't call him by name, but Caitlin knows that Barry catches the weight behind her look, the way she throws her gaze up to meet his, intent and meaningful, lips turned up slightly.

True to form, he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pants, thumbs hooking the outside edge, as he shrugs a little—perfectly, humbly awkward in the wake of her implication. Typical Barry Allen—willing to accept that he constantly saves the day as the Flash but completely ignoring the fact that he does some of his best work in a button down and blue jeans rather than a red mask and reinforced sneakers.

Caitlin laughs, light and easy. "Seriously Barry," and he laughs a little too, at that exasperated look she's wearing (a look he's seen before almost always directed at him, usually for pretty similar reasons). "You make people's lives better just by being you." She holds his gaze, a little more serious now. "So thank you. You're always there for me. You always showing up whenever I need you to."

He's grinning, bashful, as he walks her across to her car and reminds her to drive safe. She carries that warmth in her thoughts for days.

* * *

And with this, my 2x05 fic, I am caught up on episode tags! This time, I kinda flipped the ownership of the convo and praise from powers & faith, because it seemed to fit and then I really liked the idea of taking the same general idea from the other side. Hope you guys enjoyed it!

This is my third update in about 12 hours, so if you missed them, the last two chapters before this are pretty new too.

Take Care & Best Wishes,

AOR


	8. even heroes have the right to bleed

_Anonymous asked: I'm feeling angsty Caitlin...? Stressing about hurt Barry to be specific_

* * *

 _ **even heroes have the right to bleed**_

* * *

"Stay with me Barry, stay with me," is a mantra she whispers like a prayer, like a scratched record stuck on repeat as her fingers fly across torn skin and her eyes burn with her refusal to blink, slow breaths and jagged words, rough as the wounds she works desperately to repair. "Stay with me," over and over, while she ignores every lesson she's ever had about detachment and patient outcomes and throws every ounce of her faith in him, in his will to make this world a better place. She lets the causalities of her work flutter to the ground like broken bits of promises she won't give him a pass on, until her heels catch in them as she moves from one injury to the next; gauze and used suture needles and clipped ends of chromic gut sticking to her soles but not slowing her down. Barry Allen is not going to die. She will not let him.

The others flutter in and out, as anxious as the swing of his vitals, erratic and frantic and then languid with their disbelief, their horror. They whisper and worry and wonder in tones that rise and fall but it's all just background noise. Caitlin doesn't want to but she ignores them, ignores their requests for updates, ignores Cisco's fumbling efforts to explain, because any second she spends breathing words for them is a little less oxygen devoted to him and she will not give Barry anything less than her every effort (how far she's come from that haughty, blatant refusal to patch him up).

Finally, everything settles: their pacing and questions, his vitals, her heartbeat. Everyone is collected across the lab, lost if varying stages of weariness, but none with quite the weight sliding off their shoulders as Caitlin, pressing one last line of tape across his hip before her fingers graze bare skin as she carefully settles a blanket over the worst evidence of the fight. It's her sigh, heavy with her own relief that snatches their scattered attention.

"He's stable." How she manages to catch the tears in their eyes (Iris's, Cisco's and Joe's) through the haze of her own, she doesn't know, but the change in the room is palpable. "I need to go clean up, someone stay with him?" As if she needs to ask. Iris and Joe take her place and Cisco grabs a broom while she drags littered bits of medical supplies with every heavy footstep.

(If she scrubs her hands until her skin burns, desperate to remove the reminders of his too fragile life, there's no one there to judge her. They're all busy taking their own turns to give their own demands, "stay with me" written in different words but anchored in all the same sentiments. No one comes for her but her own guilt while she revels in a long moment of quiet.)

When she makes it back, sans a bloodstained lab coat and a few layers of epithelials, the lab is calm and clean and nearly empty. "Joe and Iris are seeing Linda off safely, then they're going to crash in the lounge. Which you should do." It only takes one shake, a half chewed lip, the haunted look in her eyes to tell Cisco that's a battle he will not win. It's also the closest he'll come to a smile until Barry wakes up. "Kinda figured. You take first watch, I'll go get some coffee?"

And just like that, they're all alone—Barry Allen and his personal physician.

She doesn't even make it into the chair before she's sobbing, fingers reaching to curl into his blessedly warm hand. "You do not get to leave us Barry Allen," she whispers, fierce, in a tone that she's sure would have him laughing, if only he were awake to hear it. "Not now, not like this. You stay with me, I mean it."

He's stitched and patched, mostly put back together and healing but the mantra doesn't die away, the fear doesn't diminish, the desperation still clings to her skin like an itch. When she finally falls asleep "stay with me" remains firmly on the tip of her tongue, lulled by the reassuring cadence of his breathing and the sharp beep of his heartbeat and when Cisco comes back with coffee, he swears he hears her mumble it, every now and then, where she's leaned against his bed, hand still in his.

* * *

My tag to 2x06. What an intense episode! Thanks for the prompt anon because after watching, that was what I wanted to write about! Hope everyone enjoyed! 

Take Care & Best Wishes,

AOR


	9. my side of the microphone

_**my side of the microphone**_

* * *

It's ironic, that it's not until after he's had a literal gorilla standing on his chest that he finally feels able to breathe again but it remains true just the same. They're back in the lab, scattered for the moment, as Caitlin runs an unnecessary host of tests, just to be sure the hits from Grodd didn't trigger any residual damage or aggravate his previous injuries. She's fussing, they're healed and he's fine, but Barry lets her check anyway because he owes Caitlin that much, owes her whatever she needs to feel better again.

Still, he can't help the half smile as she pulls her stethoscope back, lets his shirt fall and lets out a deep breath. "Everything looks okay," she sounds like she doesn't quite believe it, even though she's done and checked all the tests herself.

"I'm fine Cait, really." And then they're trading gazes and smiles and breathy laughs that are half exasperated at the situations they constantly find themselves in and the horrendous ways that they try to cope in the aftermath.

"I know, I just…"

"Worry?" Barry supplies, a little cheeky, which earns that fond eye roll he sees so very often. It's comforting and normal and he's glad for that return to equilibrium. "I know the feeling," trails behind his sardonic comment, heavier as it comes out on the coattails of a weighty exhale. He hadn't had a chance to say as much earlier, when they'd gotten her back and were busy trying to formulate a more permanent solution, but it feels important to admit—like Caitlin deserves the reassurance that he cares too, that her wellbeing (her safety, her happiness) are as much a priority for him as the reverse is for her. "I get why Grodd is important to you Cait, and I'm glad it all worked out, but…" he stumbles, searches for the words in a way that reminds him acutely of those first fumbled steps after his spine healed, of trying to navigate through familiar rooms when Light had blasted him blind—he doesn't like the uncertainty, but he pushes through it. "I don't like watching you walk into danger."

"At least I don't run into it headfirst," because she can tease right back, wearing a grin that belies the serious look that's pinning him still on the medical table. "I wasn't about to sit back and let him hurt you Barry, not when I could stop it. That's not how any of this works." Her fingers flutter to the stethoscope still hanging around her neck, tug it down and then fiddle with it as she turns to lay the tool back on the table.

"It's easier, really," Barry admits, as quiet as the ghost of his fingers over her wrist, turning her back to the end of their conversation. "Getting hit than feeling helpless—not easy, but easier."

Her nod is tiny, but he's watching close enough to notice, to see the way resolve settles with the minute bounce of her curls and the smallest twist of red lips. "Welcome to my side of the microphone," and then the clatter of the scope on the metal tray is drowned out by everyone else shuffling back into the lab, but Barry carries the remnants of their discussion with him for days at the edge of his mind.

* * *

2x07 tag because it seemed impossible that Caitlin wouldn't fussily check over Barry after Grodd stepped all over him and because I will continue to want a scene where Barry worries over Caitlin after she gets kidnapped until I actually get them.

Take Care & Best Wishes,

AOR


	10. be careful!

_**& be careful**_

* * *

Caitlin calls approximately 15 seconds after Cisco sends the text (because she'd made him promise he'd send updates, especially if anything went wrong; the only consolation she got for remaining behind in Central City). Startled by the sudden vibration breaking his concentration, Barry's hand reaches for his pocket, pulling out his phone and checking the caller id with a puzzled frown. He's already walking away from the main group when he slides to answer. "Caitlin?"

"You were stabbed?" It's half question, half exclamation and all exasperation and so completely Caitlin that he cannot help the laugh he exhales into the line even while his gaze searches for Cisco's (he has the decency to look sheepish the moment he realizes who Barry is talking to). Of course she'd made him text, of course she's calling to scold him for getting hurt.

"I'm fine Caitlin," because he is, lingering tenderness aside. He'd applied pressure, mopped up the blood, done all the right things he knows Caitlin would have done herself had he been back home and then hadn't really given it much extra thought—he pays attention when she hovers over him, fixing and patching and muttering about her work, so he knows it's a sufficient fix. But there's worry lingering on the line between them, an anxiety in the silence and the way she pauses, gathering words, before she replies. He fills the silence to reassure her even though he doesn't have to see her to know it won't suffice. "Really, the wound is healed and the bruises are almost gone."

"Barry," squeezes out, no doubt past a chewed lower lip and her limitless consternation. The two syllables are a little plaintive, an argument steadily shoring up its walls before she decides, with an audible sigh, to just give it up. He smiles where he's standing, off to the side of the Arrow Cave (he's not letting go of that name unless Oliver threatens bodily harm), because he can practically see her shoulders drop, the wrinkle across her forehead smooth, her lip fall from its confines. "I don't like not knowing what's going on," is what she settles on, even if the words between the lines are that she doesn't like not being able to fix him and knowing he's (they're) okay. There's a hilarious irony in the fact that she doesn't trust him to heal on his own, when it's one of the few things he can manage without help (not that he doesn't appreciate hers).

"I know but someone had to keep an eye on things back home, and I couldn't ask Cisco to stay for this," his attention wanders back to their friend for a moment, fretting once more over Kendra as Barry repeats the same rationale they'd discussed before they'd left. Logic and reason win out, as they had before, even if she still doesn't like it.

"Say hi to Felicity for me?" It's an agreement without having to give in, acceptance without actual acceptance and it makes him laugh again, fond and amused. She's stubborn as hell and he's glad she's in his corner.

"Already did. How're things in Central City?"

Her update is quick, efficient, because not much has happened back home since they all left, except that she and Dr. Wells are working on some ideas to help him speed up. He'd like to get more details, but Oliver's calling him over so he promises to let her know as soon as they're on their way back and says goodbye, smiling once more as she ends the call with a bossy, clipped "and be careful."

* * *

Oh gosh, I had so many ideas for tags, but when Barry's hand went to where he got stabbed, this scene just came to mind and I had to go with it. I might elaborate on some other ideas this episode inspired in the future, when we're on hiatus.


	11. perspective

**perspective**

* * *

It takes a while but eventually, as they always seem to, things settle down and they get back to celebrating Christmas, broken off into little groups as they talk, eat, decorate the tree and enjoy being together. It's not much more than a lull in the chaos, but it's a lull well deserved, so they indulge.

Coming back from refilling his eggnog (which for anyone else would be a dangerous gamble at this point in the evening), Barry spots Caitlin readjusting a few ornaments that have spun themselves backwards on the tree. She looks a little thoughtful, more than just physically distant from the rest of the group, so he changes course and settles quietly at her side while she's still tinkering with the macaroni picture frame he made when he was nine, complete with his tiny image, gap toothed and beaming. "I'm pretty sure I've tried to throw that away at least three times but it keeps finding its way back to the tree."

He figures its a testament to how well they've gotten to know each other that Caitlin doesn't even startle when he shows up anymore—too used to his sudden appearances. Instead, she just tosses a smile at him, nose scrunching a little with her amusement. "It's adorable."

Grinning, Barry makes a show of leaning over to peer into her cup curiously, one brow lifted and both eyes sharp (and sparkling with mischief). "How many of those have you had?" He doesn't try to duck her suddenly free hand as it makes contact with his side, a gentle backhanded swat of amusement. The laughter seeps out of his expression after a moment though, eyes still searching but softer now. "You okay?"

He watches the rise and fall of her shoulders beneath the dark fabric of her dress and isn't surprised when that thoughtful look returns. "Just needed a minute to think about the changes a year makes."

It's not like he can blame her for that, so Barry lets the silence do his talking for him. It has been a busy year—full of victories and heartbreaks and regrets and challenges and more ups and downs than some people see in a lifetime. And he can't say that he'd do it all over again just the same, still spends too much time circling back over the choices he's made, but it could definitely look darker than it does right now. In fact, by and large, it feels a little like their lives might be hitting an upswing. "There's a lot of them," he finally agrees, letting his gaze trace the faces in the room, lingering on the additions while his thoughts linger on those missing.

"But we're moving on and making the best of it," it's a strange tone to hear from Caitlin, resolute yet somehow questioning, but he knows exactly where her thoughts are, because his are there too.

He thinks maybe she (him, they) need to talk about it a little more at some point but tonight it's Christmas and they're surrounded by friends and family, and it can probably wait—so he grins, leans in a little and nudges her. "Congrats on that by the way," and there's nothing but playful teasing in the way he says it and then nods toward where Jay and Cisco are chatting animatedly (Cisco's wild hand gestures suggest they're back to talking about the Godfather), watching curiously for her reaction

It does not disappoint.

Caitlin does this thing sometimes where her eyes skirt up and then arc down, a look that can't decide where to settle—somewhere between innocent and smug and she does it now. It pulls a laugh from his mouth without a second thought as he waits to see where she ends up. In the end it's her mouth that makes the call, red lips tugging upward in a smile that warms right to her steady brown eyes, chasing any lingering ghosts away as they meet his just long enough for them to share his laugh. Then her curls are bouncing with the shake of her head as she fights to rein in her amusement with a sincere, if slightly shy, "thanks."

Barry winks and then starts to move back toward the group, pausing for her to join. Just before they split up (so Barry can get in on this Godfather conversation and Caitlin can help Patti find some spare plates), he turns back to her. "For the record, being around you can be a big help too."

(It takes her a second to make the connection, but when she does her smile is as bright as the angel on the tree).

* * *

Oh wow, how has it been so long since I updated? Expect a flurry this week! For now, since Flash it starting back up, here's the last episode's tag (2x09).


	12. shadows of faith

_**shadows of faith**_

* * *

Most of the time, Caitlin tries her best not to compare, not to stack the Speedsters in her life next to one another for analysis, but sometimes it just happens too quickly (and yes, she's aware of the irony) to ignore: a little thought that flashes through her mind before she can stop it.

They're different men from different worlds, with different histories and different backgrounds and different ways of thinking. By all accounts, the only things they have in common are the speed force (and really, not even that right now) and the company they currently keep. And she knows that, logically, because how can she not? She loves Barry, with all her heart, but it's a very different feeling then the quick jump of her pulse that Jay induces. There's nothing she wouldn't do for either of them, no sacrifice she wouldn't make, but it's different. They're different.

And yet she compares (measures and examines and focuses on how they're the same and mostly how they're not).

Those differences feel incredibly tangible all of a sudden, when Jay walks away, leaving the weight of his discouragement a palpable thing in the air. Barry never gives up. Barry doesn't lose faith: in himself, sometimes maybe, but never in her, never in their ability to make things right together.

She tries not to compare, but it's hard not to as she watches the defeated slump of Jay's shoulders and thinks of all the times Barry's have fallen that way, caught up with the press of the horizon on them–a veritable Atlas–until he turns to her (to all of them) and let's them help carry the weight.

She tries not to compare, but she can't help but wish that maybe Jay were a little bit more like Barry in that way (it's hard to live in the shadow of such little faith when she used to so much of it).

* * *

Just a tiny 2x10 tag, but I couldn't help but feel how different Jay and Barry are in that moment, when he couldn't bring himself to believe in Caitlin–it felt like it should be some significant point of contrast and so I had to expand. I have another one coming in a few minutes as well and then I'll get the rest of my tags caught up tomorrow.


	13. life sucks

_**life sucks**_

* * *

He doesn't know what to do or how to feel or where to go, really. He doesn't want to stay around work, doesn't want to go home so he figures he'll go to the same place he always goes when the world crashes down: back to STAR Labs.

It shouldn't really be that surprising that it's not empty (it hardly ever is these days), but he can't bring himself to be disappointed in the company. "Hey," he's pretty impressed when his voice doesn't wobble, even if it does startle Caitlin where she's tucked up to her desk (her little jump managing to draw a tiny smile, fleeting but it's something).

"Barry," she breathes, heavy and grinning with a shake of her head and a hand against her chest, "you scared me." Her dark eyes stutter at the look on his face though, suddenly somber as they rake over his frame. He's not trying all that hard to hide it, but he's pretty sure it'd be a failed attempt anyway: Caitlin always seems to figure out when something's wrong. "You okay?"

She also always lets him own up to it on his one time, which he appreciates. "Patty's leaving Central City." There's no point in doing anything but ripping it off; the truth won't get any easier if he sugarcoats it (so he doesn't bother hiding how bitter and miserable he feels about the whole situation: God, why can't he just pull himself together?).

"Oh, Barry." She sounds as broken as he feels and he wonders not for the first time how Caitlin's always so good at that; at understanding every ache and pain he's ever felt–but then he supposes she knows how it feels to be left behind. "I'm so sorry," and he knows she is, that it's not just a platitude, because the regret's a living thing, dark behind her gaze and she's already crossing the room with open arms, ready to give whatever comfort she can.

Barry sinks into it with a sigh; grateful for the pressure, for the warmth, for the easy, familiar way they always support each other when things get rough.

"What happened?" She gives another squeeze and then leads the way to the lounge, the click of her heels against the floor a slow and dragging pace as she waits for him to follow.

He sinks into a chair and starts rambling, drawing some comfort from the rattling sounds of her making tea (he's never really liked it, but he knows it'll keep his hands busy the way it's keeping Caitlin's, so he can talk without feeling like the center of attention). Because it's Caitlin, he doesn't bother to keep his self pity or self loathing in check, doesn't feel the need to edit or revise as he goes, just lets the facts and the follies, his litany of mistakes lay bare and tangled between them. By the time she's handing him a mug of tea, he's basically done and she's sinking into the chair next to him.

"Life sucks," she grumbles, chased by a hard sigh (the weight of her own frustrations tucked away; Barry needs her right now and he takes priority).

It's such a blank statement, so simple and inelegant, that Barry laughs a little, finds the amusement to tease: "No sage advice?"

She works up a tiny grin for him and shrugs. "Sometimes I think you just need to embrace the misery for a while. No sage advice for now."

Barry smothers the building desire to smile around a sip of tea. It still hurts (still sucks) and it's going to for a while, but at least he's not alone.

* * *

Just another small tag for 2x11 (I just realized all my last few tag numbers are messed up, bear with me as I work to fix them please!). I always feel like when the world falls down around him, I feel like Barry talks to Caitlin.


	14. inside we rage against the dying of the

_**inside we rage [against the dying of the light]**_

* * *

It's impossible to miss the swell of Caitlin's tears or the way she's biting her lip with the effort of keeping them in as they all stand in front of the last portal, frozen with the weight of everything that's just happened. They've done it; Zoom is gone; Jessie is safe; the Scarlet Speedster is back in Earth 2.

And Caitlin's heart is left in pieces on this side of the universe.

Eventually they realize they're all just standing, staring, so Harrison clears his throat (arm still curled fiercely around his daughter). "Shall we?" It catches a little, like maybe after all this time, he's a little lost at the thought of never seeing his old adversary (recent teammate, not-quite-friend) for the last time (there's nothing back home for him, not when Jessie's happy to make a life away from the horror of the last year). No one comments, no one stops him, so he nods a little gravely, resolute, and tosses the portal closer. The portal wobbles, undulates around the edges, then disappears.

It's all over.

Barry hears the sound of Caitlin's sharp breath, beneath all the other sighs of relief (regret, recovery) and tugs his mask away to watch her with gentle eyes. "Caitlin," is all he manages, before everyone else seems to realize their bioengineer is falling apart and decide that Barry's best suited to deal with it. One by one, and two by two, they file out of the room until it's just the pair of them. "Caitlin," he starts again, flashing away in a microsecond, a blast of air, before his arms are out and he's wearing his normal clothes, watching her like she's built of something fragile, spun glass or thin ice, rather then the solid, steady faith he knows her to be made of.

Stubborn (fierce, utterly Caitlin), her head shakes a rebuttal but the force of the movement dislodges the tears she's been keeping at bay and once she feels them against her cheeks (tangible, free, un-disregardable), it's a shattering facade, all tumbling down.

It leaves something lodged in his chest and stinging the corners of his own gaze, has him bridging the gap and pulling her in to soak his shirt and shudder against the line of his collarbone (he's glad he changed; he thinks she needs the warmth and the contact; thinks of all the times the pressure of her hug has steadied him). "Hey, hey, it's okay," tumbles out, empty platitudes ringed with an assurance that he's here, he's got her, she's allowed to fall apart and somewhere in the middle of it, his fingers tangle in her curls, combing them carefully.

"Everybody I love leaves me."

There's a second, fleeting but still there, where he almost wishes he hadn't caught that, that the words had been buried in his chest, unintelligible and easily brushed off. But they aren't and whatever's been lodging in his own chest completely implodes, dropping a few tears into her hair. Barry curls closer, lets his nose follow their fall and he buries his face against her curls. "You are not alone," comes out fiercer then he means it to, caught in a memory only a few months old, when he'd said the same words and felt utterly abandoned by everyone (but he hadn't been: it had hurt, still hurts too much, but he has Joe and Iris, Cisco and Harry, and he has Caitlin, always by his side; always there when he needs a smile or advice-and maybe it's not the kind of love they both want, but maybe it's better in some ways?). "I'm sorry Jay's gone," he is, Jay was a great guy, but he understands the responsibility to go back, to be the hero, "but you are not alone Caitlin."

He feels her nod against his chest and it lets him breathe again, even though she doesn't pull away, doesn't quite stop crying (he doesn't mind, just tugs her a little closer and returns to carding through her hair slowly, trying to soothe the way she always does for him). Eventually, she calms: her breathing gradually evens, the damp spot of cotton on his shirt stops expanding and Caitlin stills in his arms, though she remains pressed into him a while longer. Barry doesn't mind, he just wishes he could do something more productive to help (he's just saved two worlds and he thinks maybe he's never felt more powerless).

When she does pull away, she doesn't go far and he's not sure if that's her choice or his, but her muddled eyes find his and he offers the tiniest of smiles.

"Thank you," scratches too hoarse and too quiet, it makes her wince and pinches her expression uncomfortably.

"I mean it Caitlin," his head shakes, resolute. "I know you really cared about Jay, and I know how hard it is to let someone walk away," her nod is small but weighted with significance; it's honest empathy coming from Barry, the words aren't bitter to swallow up, like they might be from someone else (they're not empty offerings; he does get it; he always does). "But you're never going to be alone. I'm never going to leave you," it's a promise he knows that, in some ways, he can't keep, but that doesn't mean he can't fiercely want to. "And neither will Cisco or Joe, or Iris." He tries for a little bigger smile, "hell, I'm pretty sure we're stuck with Harry now," and when he punctuates the joke with a wink, it earns him a watery laugh (he beams brilliant for a brief second, glad for the sound).

"I know Barry," and she does, even if this is going to take awhile to get over (she should have known better; should have known all along). "Thank you."

He nods, keeps the quiet smile and, in tandem, they begin to draw back (there are so many things they both need to deal with; all the residual fallout from taking down Zoom; pieces of the last year of their lives that need putting back to order).

Barry is just about to turn away, give her the room and a few minutes to finish collecting herself, when Caitlin gives his hand a squeeze (the one place they're still connected). "And just so you know, I'll never leave you either."

There's a shared moment of relief, a few suddenly heavy heartbeats where they share a smile and then he nods: he knows (even if there was a moment, small but excruciating, when he thought Jay would offer, thought she would accept-timelines and consequences and doppelgangers be damned). "I know."

* * *

This is not a traditional episode tag in that it happens inside the episode but in a projected few months, when Zoom is defeated and Jay is leaving. It just seemed like the best way to use Barry's words and apply them to Caitlin. Hope you enjoyed!


	15. you don't think I know what you've done

_**you don't think I know [what you've done]**_

* * *

"I was the one that trusted him first, I own that. I let him stay when literally all of you told me not to, so everything that's happened up until this point is on me. But this has to be a group decision."

Caitlin Snow has seen the impossible before, many times, but she's never had the impossible asked of her. But that's what Barry is asking now, standing in front of them and haphazardly laying bare the weight of his guilt in a way he so rarely does. It's raw and poignant and she knows her answer before he's even finished asking. How can she not? How can she not follow wherever he leads, when she's never lost faith him before?

She's seen the impossible but she's also seen miracles bourn in the wake of impossibility—miracles crafted from nothing but determination and faith and the well-meaning intentions of the man who is willing to put the fate of a whole world in their hands because the only thing he won't do is betray their trust like so many have before.

There's no choice to make.

"Of course," she's the first to breathe because she can't leave him hanging in silence, can't stand to see the way his green gaze wavers, faltering, for another moment. Someday, someone is going to let Barry down again (it's happened too many times) but there is no way that it's going to be her who does it. "It's not the same as before," she adds, imploring as she turns to Cisco and Joe who would hesitate forever between their love of Barry and their hatred of the Eobard Thawne version of Harrison Wells. "Harry's not Thawne; Thawne wouldn't do anything for love."

She sees relief, bright and vibrant as lightning, flash through Barry's grateful gaze from the corner of her own and the steady thrum of her heartbeat reinforces that it's the right choice (that believing in Barry is always the right choice).

Joe caves next, his eyes distant as he no doubt thinks of hospital beds and caskets, the loves he's lost and almost lost and all the things he has and would do for those people. Cisco takes longer, a few long bated breaths, but then he nods and regains the smile he'd been missing. "I knew it couldn't be the suit," is his only admittance of acceptance but she sees Barry grin and recognize the comment for what it is.

They don't talk about it anymore, just get Harrison and start planning, prepping, working once again to figure out Barry's speed and how to force Zoom's hand, laying plans for their trip to Earth 2 (somehow find it within themselves to laugh at the way Harry keeps correcting their perspective on the term) but it's been a long few days and after a few hours they agree it's time for a rest.

Joe is heading back to the hospital, Cisco's heading home, Harry to the room he's adopted in the upper levels of the lab. "I'll stop in the morning Joe, have some time with Wally," and then Barry lingers, watching as she gathers her coat and bag (as sometimes he does, when he wants to have a quick chat).

The others leave and then they're alone while Caitlin slides her arms back through the dark sleeves. She's just fixing her collar when, "Thank you," breaks the quiet. Barry doesn't elaborate and she doesn't really need him to.

She wants to say he was right, that he doesn't need to thank her, that it's the right choice but those things feel insufficient, all things considered, so she pauses and watches him for a moment, dark eyes thoughtful. "I've seen you do some impossible things Barry," Caitlin finally settles on, with a tiny quirk of her lips, fond and affectionate. "But none of what you can do is as impressive as who you are."

His suddenly puzzled expression makes Caitlin laugh aloud.

"You're the most selfless person I've ever met," and there's a tiny moment where it almost hurts to say it (she thinks of Ronnie and the accelerator and the singularity but then she remembers a tiny conversation about leaving, a minute disagreement over pizza and as much as she loves the man she lost, she knows that even Ronnie couldn't do this). "And that has nothing to do with being the Flash and everything to do with being Barry Allen. It's the right thing, the good thing, and you shouldn't have to thank anyone for doing that."

He looks endearingly sheepish for a brief moment, eyes cast toward the toes of his sneakers, fingers jammed into his pockets in that way he has (usually around Iris, once around Patty, when someone mentions how great the Flash is, anytime he feels he's insufficient for the company or the praise) and she can't help but smile fully. How anyone so kind, so good can be so little aware of it is beyond her-but she supposes that's all just part of who he is.

"But I am," he decides, settled and stubborn, looking back up for her gaze. "Because that doesn't make it the easy thing to do and I know I'm asking a lot."

Her head shakes her curls over the collar of her jacket and the hand not gripping her bag goes to absently brush them from her neck again. "You're not asking for anything you weren't already willing to give."

"Still," he hedges, shrugging but grinning (they go toe-to-toe on the stubborn front and it rarely fails to amuse him).

"You want a ride home?" She know he'd usually just run but given what they've learned, she thinks maybe he shouldn't be pushing it. She's ready to explain as much but Barry's already nodding.

"Only if I get to choose the music."

(He plugs in his phone and makes her listen to Grease all the way back to Joe's, repeating Summer Lovin' until she's laughingly begging for something else-then bargains any song but she has to sing too. Her singing voice isn't any better for the laughter that breaks it but she keeps the theme going until she's pulled into her own parking spot.)

* * *

While 2x13 was a) light on Caitlin it did b) have a perfect episode tag inspiration. I did really like the episode for the Barry & Harrison relationship and the development of Harrison's character. Anyhow, here you are. Title credit to the Boyce Avenue cover of Sam Smith's 'I'm Not the Only One'.


End file.
